


Heatwave

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Het, Reader fic - Freeform, combat first sex later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exceptionally warm weather reveals more of Altaïr's delicious body than usual. Lustful look ensues, along with a sparring session that inevitably leads to sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and requests. Poor Altair has been a long time coming for his turn at kinky fics. I blame it on having played the game so long ago (that's a hint for an Anniversary edition Ubisoft!).

The summers were always exceptionally warm in Masyaf, but the most recent had remained unreasonably so. The sun had scorched most of the ground to dry dust and even the plants and trees that survived the most arid conditions were looking a tad wilted.

Masyaf’s inhabitants could be regularly found lounging in any patch of shade that they could find, seeking what little relief there was, longing for the cooler autumn and winter days.

The combat ring outside the main assassin stronghold was normally full of practicing recruits eagerly sparing with one another to prove themselves worthy, but for the last few weeks only the very keen, or perhaps stupidly brave, dared fight in the blistering heat.

It had become a bit of a past-time; to head out to the courtyard and watch those dedicated few fight, while onlookers tried their best to keep cool. Gambling was frowned upon, but that didn’t stop the whispering exchange of coin to see which novice would pass out from heat stroke first.

Even the lightest fabric assassin robes were almost too much for the weather, and pale colours did not help ward off the trickle of sweat down your spine or the clammy feeling in your palms. The cowl of the assassin was normally excellent for shading the sun from watchful eyes and covering sensitive heads from becoming burnt, but at the moment the hood only acted as another layer intent on stifling you.

Normally you barely even got to glimpse your brother and sisters faces wandering around Masyaf, let alone the rest of their bodies. Assassins that had worked together for years, occasionally could not describe the other in great detail, such was the nature of your work and the secrecy from even the closest allies. The unnaturally warm weather however, was baring a lot more than just people’s tempers. Bets were taken on how long it would take for crowds of excited onlookers to turn up when some of the better-looking assassins stepped out to the practice ring to show off their skills. Instead of hooded, form-covering robes, the heatwave had allowed the men to strip to their waist, enticing upper bodies bare in the shimmering heat, and women to don form-hugging vests.

 

 

Heading out from the fortress you meander down to the courtyard, planning on a quick passing glance to see who was fighting, if anyone.

Men and women flutter around in various stages of undress, relaxing in the shade with cool drinks and makeshift fans wafting short, much needed, breaths of air towards them. Perhaps you should join them? Find a cool place indoors and treat yourself to a cool cup of water, or maybe even something sweeter. Sweat trickled down your spine despite not doing anything more exerting than a leisurely stroll, and every breath was beginning to feel much more laboured than normal as the hot, humid, air engulfs your lungs.

A crowd has gathered around the courtyard and you can hear rancorous cheering before even reaching a position to view the current entertainment. The crowds watching the sparring matches were becoming larger as a result of most chores being cancelled, work delayed as the masters released recruits to find some sort of comfort. Gathering outside in the sun and challenging each other to duels was possibly not how they expected you to make use of the free time.

As you approach the sparring ring your gaze falls on the two men currently engaged in a rather energetic bout of combat. There were few sights as fine as the assassin currently dominating the practice arena, and it was only made all the better by his current state of undress.

Altaïr stood with his back to you allowing you to glimpse the defined, deliciously toned, muscles decorating his shoulders and arms. When he advanced against the unfortunate recruit facing him, those muscles rippled and moved under soft looking skin.

It was hypnotic, really, the movements of his naked upper body as he swung his sword, like silk covering steel, and you found your gaze automatically drawn to him, a little flush of excitement creeping through your body as you edge closer for a better look.

Dampness gathers around the assassin’s hairline causing the tightly cropped jet black hair to curl at the base of his neck and a few stray wisps to fall across his forehead. You notice sweat glistening of his bare chest and a slightly trickle down his spine as he turns from you. Bronze skin gleamed in the sunlight almost as much as it did off of the polished sword in those large, strong, hands.

Altaïr and the other recruit danced together around the ring, lunging, blocking, parrying; both trying to stay ahead of the others next move. Altaïr’s sword was almost like an extension of his own arm, his movements unbelievably fluid as he swung the glinting metal towards his opponent.

Every so often a grunt of exertion escapes the assassin’s lips, and that noise seems to travel straight through you and settles somewhere south of your belly button. If you closed your eyes you could almost this noises of his labour were being made from other activities…

You enjoyed watching him fight, the fast, gracefully movements, the way his trousers dipped slightly so that the top of the hollows of his hips just peaked over the band. You would be thoroughly sorry when the weather turned and all of these rather attractive men went back to form covering assassin robes.

Practice in such intense heat gave Altaïr a slightly flushed appearance, one that you would call a thoroughly _fucked_ look, and you can’t tear your eyes away, wondering what it would feel like to run your palms over those muscles or your nails down his back, to have him breathing and panting that hard above you while those large hands drifted across your body.

Altaïr commanded the ring, all power and authority, and your wandering mind idly wondered if he fucked like he fought; with the same _animalistic_ passion.

Metal clashed against metal with a loud ring and the new recruit was thrown back with the force of Altaïr’s move, stumbling backwards to land sprawled on the dusty courtyard. Unable to recover quick enough, and likely glad to be getting out of this heat, his opponent yielded quickly in defeat when Altaïr pressed the tip of his practice blade against his throat. The assassin grinned in triumph, a brief flash of white teeth and the scar bisecting his lip tugging upwards as he surveyed his handiwork.

He was very impressive, you will give him that, both in combat and physically. Altaïr was becoming a particular favourite of crowds of ladies gathering to watch the fighting in the last few weeks. The half-naked sparring sessions had certainly increased the spectator aspect of these mock fights as the heat had decreased the participant.

The assassin’s arrogance tended to let him down however, too cocky, too self-assured; more in his abilities instead of his looks though. You will admit that Altaïr never seemed to overly play to the crowd, and appeared to take no interest in some of the men and women hinting for a more ‘ _private’_ sparring session from the spectator stands.

No one had managed to beat him in combat so far, just because his rank was no longer master assassin, did not mean that he had once achieved that formidable title for nothing.

The challenger scrambled to his feet and bowed out with grace. He had been impressive too in his own way, but boy looked barely old enough to be a recruit. A few more years and he too may have the finely toned physique of Altaïr and the skills to beat fellow combatants.

Altaïr glanced around for his next opponent, chest heaving from the exertion of the fight. The heat did not help at all, but you are thankful that it is certainly giving you something pleasantly striking to look at. There was something inherently attractive about watching men and women fight, practicing the art of killing, their blood boiling, tempers flared, the noises, and the exertion.

‘No takers?’ Comes a confident call, as the assassin raises his arms and lip quirks in a cocky smile. His eyes are almost as dark as his hair and that intense gaze scans the crowd painfully slowly before firmly settling upon you.

Licking your lips, you swallow hard. He still looks flustered, muscled chest rising and falling rapidly as his breathing returns to normal. You can’t quite place the challenging look that he is giving you, but your pulse speeds, and a more intense heat seems to be pooling between your legs just from that glance. Well, that glance and the face he is running his fingers through damp hair, wide shoulders and firm chest posed like some sort of beautifully carved statue.

Stepping forwards, you grab a practice sword from the racks littering the outside circle of the sparring ring. Altaïr hadn’t exactly challenged you directly but it would please you to beat him. You are not sure you actually _could_ , but you might as well give it a go.

He surveys you keenly, a dark glint in those eyes, gaze raking intimately over every inch as you enter the ring and take up position.

A small smile tugs the corners of his mouth, tongue trailing across full lips slowly. ‘Come to play?’

‘It’s easy to beat green new recruits, Altaïr. How about a real challenge?’ You tease him.

He chuckles lowly in response and it’s enough to jerk at the muscles low in your abdomen. You have both teased and flirted before; enjoying the game, but so far nothing much had come of it. Liaisons between assassins were not encouraged for fear of corruption or poor judgement. How could you be expected to send a loved one into a mission where they might not return?

‘I’ll be happy to knock you into the dust.’ Altaïr smirks in that sexily infuriating way of his, and you are not quite sure at that moment if you want to punch him or kiss him.

Just stepping into the sun scorched sparring ring and picking up a practice sword was enough to leave you out of breath. It was far too warm, what were you even thinking attempting this? In this heat, against a man who seems to be revelling in it?

Altaïr rolls his shoulders, head cocking from side to side, stretching out defined muscles as you both enter a fighting stance and begin circling one another, awaiting the right moment to make the first move.

Rolling his sword hilt deftly between his fingers, the assassin creates a figure of eight pattern through the air and the sword sings with a gentle ringing sound.

Show off.

You watch him carefully, scanning his body language, looking for any tell-tale signs of impending attack. Your grip automatically tightens around the pommel of your sword as you can already feel your fingers slackening from sweat.

Hanging back, you await Altaïr to make the first move, in order for you to gauge his technique and ascertain the best counter method. He has already fought today and must be tiring, if you are lucky you will win by simply outwaiting him, but he is too smart an opponent and circles the ring with you, watching you with those intense eyes, clearly unwilling to tire himself and awaiting your move.

‘You just going to dance all day?’ His mocking carries across the ring, just barely loud enough to be heard over the chattering crowd.

It’s likely that he is trying to goad you into a reaction. You won’t be falling for it. ‘Well, when the dance partner is so good, why not?’

Altaïr flashes you a brilliant smile at your gentle bantering, dark head cocked to the side as he cautiously edges around the outside of the ring in opposition to you. He’s probably already surmised that he won’t be able to tempt you into any all-out frontal attack first and makes his move. The grin hid his opening strike, as your little verbal playing distracted you, and you need to fight to recover quick enough to dodge the assassin’s rapid, unexpected, first lunge.

Darting forwards, lightening quick, Altaïr’s blade aims for the centre of your chest.

Side-stepping deftly, you just manage to parry away the blow as your swords clash with a metal on metal ring and you both retreat to your own side of the ring.

With barely a pause, he does it again, jumping forwards swiftly, forcing you to move just as quickly to escape, but retreating easily before you can muster a counter attack.

Panting already, the humidity draws sweat across your forehead that you need wipe with the back of your arm to keep your vision clear.

Altaïr grins at you, more just a smug quirk of his lip at your predicament.

Maybe the man has more stamina than you give him credit for. Who knows how many opponents he has already faced today? The assassin could just continue doing this, wearing you down and waiting you out. Here was you being arrogant thinking that it would be the other way around.

Each time you clash, Altaïr draws close enough for overwhelming heat to radiate off of his body and the male musky smell of him to envelope you.

He smells delicious, you will have to admit, all sweat and sunshine and leather and steel. It’s a little distracting; the nearness of his body on those occasions, the deep heavy breathing and gentle grunts escaping his lips, the press of that firm muscled body against you…

Your own breathing is becoming more laboured and its perhaps not just simple exertion from the fight. You will need to try and do something to finish this quickly or you will be distracted by a rather attractive half-naked man and end up like the last recruit. Your pride might not take that sort of beating.

Circling the assassin, you watch warily for your chance to strike.

Perhaps Altaïr isn’t as unaffected as you thought; just maybe he was getting distracted by his own teasing. Your chance comes as you watch that dark gaze rake over your panting body, his eyes dip downwards, clearly not on your face and more likely where your shirt is clinging wetly to your breasts.

With him uncharacteristically unfocused, you make a move, pouncing forwards with sword raised.

Ducking under the wide swing of your blade, you collide with one another, bodies pressed together and swords tangling. The assassin forces the pair of you apart with a firm shoulder against yours, heaving with all his weight.

As you both recover you smirk at him from across the ring. ‘Wandering eyes will cost you on the battlefield, Altaïr.’ You whisper low enough for only him to hear and none of your spectators.

With a small accepting nod he grins ruefully, biting his lip.

You might win if you could get his mind wandering again. Just how low would you be willing to sink to wipe that smug smile off of his face? The answer is of course; quite.

Teasing him, hoping to provide more of a distraction, you open the top of your shirt just a bit more, making a show of fanning the loose fabric against your skin and pretending you are looking for a little air.

The assassin licks his lips slowly, eyes wandering again at your actions, and you take your chance to attack once more. But it would appear you were too quick in your calculations and his interest was just a ruse this time, set to lure you in. As you lunge forwards he is ready for the attack, blade unexpectedly clashing against yours with a metal on metal whine, hard enough that you are surprised that sparks are not flying.

Your swords knot, locked together in struggle, and Altaïr tugs harder with all his impressive strength; pulling you bodily towards him.

You can feel your grip loosen from your sword hilt with his violent yank, and you have only milliseconds to make a decision; you can either try and hold onto it and be caught in his grasp, or let it go and try to get away.

As you are enveloped in the distractingly warm, musky aura of his body, you let the sword go, and the sudden release of tension has Altaïr stumbling. He clearly hadn’t expected you to risk being unarmed. As his body is pulled one way and your sword clatters to the ground, you duck under his outstretched arm, quickly coming up behind him, pulling a small dagger from your belt as you did so.

With your breasts pressed firmly against his bare back, you push the tip of the dagger carefully against his neck and the assassin freezes, the dagger blade scraping lightly against the stubble on his throat.

‘Seems I win, Altaïr.’ You can’t help the smug glee in your voice as you lean closer to whisper in his ear. The sound of metal hitting the ground confirms that he made the smart move and dropped his sword.

‘You think so?’ Altaïr purrs, muscles stiff and ridged, but you can feel the thrumming energy coiled in his body.

The man really shouldn’t be so cocky, you think, not when you clearly have the upper hand. Unarmed, with your blade at his throat, you are pretty sure you can call that a win.

Before you can even register what happened, a solid grip latches on and drags you downwards, your body lurching forwards across the assassin’s hip.

In the blink of an eye you find yourself winded and sprawled on your back, vision obscured by the hard press of Altaïr’s body pinning you down.

How he managed to reverse your positions and flip you, you have no idea, but his strong fingers curl around your wrists restraining them against dusty courtyard floor. He actually _growls_ at you, a deep purring noise that sends shudders throughout your entire body. The solid weight of him pushes powerfully against you, the ridged line of his chest crushing against your your breasts.

Breathless and shocked you just manage to retain enough sense to register that there is something equally hard pressing between your legs, and you take a deep, shuddering breath at the realisation of his excitement. Seems Altaïr was thoroughly enjoying your sparing session and was maybe a little distracted after all.

His full lips are only inches from yours, warm breath ticking across your skin in short puffs and you can only watch him carefully, the way small animals watch predators, afraid of making any wrong moves.

‘What was that you said about winning?’ He laughs, scarred lip tugging playfully.

Arching your back, you strain upwards to try and find some purchase out of your current predicament, but find yourself thoroughly pinned and unable to move.

Altaïr chuckles and the noise reverberated through his muscled chest, pulsating along the line of your body and causing you to shiver. His response to your reaction is an arrogant smirk, before powerful fingers squeeze your wrist just enough for it to start hurting and you are forced to release your dagger.

Completely at his mercy, no doubt the assassin is expecting you to easily concede his victory, but your pride won’t allow that just yet, and you take some small smug satisfaction at his reaction to you.

Flexing your hips slightly upwards, your lower body presses against his, the hard line of his obvious erection digging in just that little bit deeper.

‘I think I have still won.’

Your teasing is met with another low, dangerous, growl that leaves your pulse racing and nerve endings tingling more than any fight could. You think you might have just found the answer to your question whether the assassin fucked like he fought.

Altaïr leans in close, and for a brief moment you felt sure that he was going to kiss you.

Turning your head from his decent, you can’t have the man kiss you with crowds of onlookers, but Altaïr’s lips press against the shell of your ear, voice low and intimate.

‘ _That_. Is a dangerous game you play, girl.’

Your breath hitches and eyes flutter closed as he rolls his hips slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for you to feel him rut between your legs and the promise of what he could do with those strong hips and lean, muscled legs.

‘ _Yield_ to me.’ He purrs, and you know that he isn’t talking about the sparring session.

You shudder under him, breathing heavy; the softest moan escapes your lips and you can only nod your head. Whatever he wants.

Altaïr’s dark eyes meet yours, gaze unwavering, as he eases carefully off of your prone body, gracefully rising to his feet before offering you a hand up.

His palm is surprisingly warm and dry as you place your hand is his, and he gently tugs you from the ground to your feet.

Dusting yourself off, you glance furtively around the crowd, but it seems that no one is paying the pair of you and undue attention, the rather intimate end of your…fight, has gone unnoticed.

You can still practically feel the exciting press of his warm, solid, body against yours, the thrum of energy vibrating through you at his touch, and the promise of more. The way Altaïr growled at you …you were wet already you knew, relishing the scrape of your thighs together as you walk across the sparring ring to put away the training swords.

There was a small murmur of disappointment as too Altaïr gave up his sword, letting a fresh batch of assassins enter the ring to begin their training. It would seem he was done with practicing today, but his gaze met yours across the courtyard and he followed your every move with unwavering intensity until you were ready to leave.

The assassin stalks towards you, a sway in those lean hips, and you are fully aware, even at a distance, that that you are the prey. You are thankful for the loose trousers concealing what you felt press so snugly against you while you were pinned to the floor. The last thing that you both needed was the crowds of Masyaf knowing what the pair of you were about to embark on, and you are not sure you could so placatingly watch him prowl towards you when he was so obviously aroused.

Licking your lips, your pulse speeds in eager anticipation as you watch him approach, your gaze wandering down to his groin to catch any glimpse of that excitement you felt earlier. You hadn’t been imagining it, had you?

When Altaïr is close enough to not be overheard by any stragglers vying for his attention he mutters, ‘come with me’, and leaves the ring without so much as a backwards glance.

Following silently in his wake, you enjoy the view of the assassin’s broad, defined, shoulders, and you will admit to staring at his very pert backside, as he walks slightly ahead of you.

As if Altaïr could feel you staring at his arse, he glances over his shoulder, one dark eyebrow raised in mirth.

‘Enjoying the view?’ He jokes.

‘You shouldn’t put on a show if you don’t want people to stare.’

He only chuckles at your quip and keeps walking, hips still swinging enticingly, leading you uphill towards the castle.

 

It is pleasantly cool indoors, the high ceilings, minimal windows, and brickwork keeping most of the heat outside. As you enter the shade of the building entrance, and away from onlookers, you find yourself suddenly grabbed and pinned against the cool, stone walls.

Thrust into a dark alcove between pillars, the cool brickwork against your back is contrasted by Altaïr’s impossibly warm bare chest against yours. Your cry of surprise is swallowed as his mouth seeks yours, lips pressing reverently and tongue darting between your teeth to caress your own. His kiss is hurried, but possessive, dragging himself away with effort and a final bite to your bottom lip.

It leaves you arching towards him, panting and eager for more. Vision hazy from pleasure, you manage to wrap your arms around the assassin’s neck and drag him closer for another bruising kiss.

Gasping, you pull away as Altaïr’s fingers slip under your shirt, bare skin deliciously coming into contact with bare skin as those calloused fingertips trail your sides. You can’t help the shiver down your spine, or your body eagerly writhing against him in encouragement.

Altaïr places a few fleeting kisses along your taught throat before stepping away, checking the castle entrance for others, and ensuring that you have not been spotted.

‘Not here.’ He declares, voice a little hoarse and dark eyes glinting. ‘Come.’

He leads you to the private sleeping quarters, to what you presume is his bedroom.

You have never been in this part of the den and glance around with interest, making careful note of your surroundings.

Ushering you through a large, heavy door, it thumps softly behind you and you are faced with Altaïr’s private quarters. Just the tangible realisation of being in his bedroom, and what activities are likely to happen speeds your heartrate a little, pulse thudding between your legs as your throat dries in anticipation.

Altaïr’s bedroom room is small, but orderly, and full of the basic necessities. It is also pleasantly cool, like the rest of the castle.

Most assassin bedrooms have little furniture, since most time is not spent in Masyaf.  Newer novices are forced to share; large dormitories that is more simply a bed to fall into at night than anywhere you could call a personal space.

The slightly more impressive nature of Altaïr’s private quarters is likely a remnant of his master-assassin title.

You turn as the door slams to find the assassin unexpectedly close, having crossed the room silently and quickly to envelop your body quickly in the warmth of his arms. His lips seek yours, the hard, eager, press of his mouth swallowing the surprised moans from low in your throat.

His kiss is intense, hungry and possessive. Lips crush against yours so much so that you can firmly feel the scar across his mouth against your skin.  His tongue teases you, flicking lightly against your lips in invitation, and yours part eagerly to welcome him.

Groaning in pleasure, you melt against the assassin’s body, giving yourself into the feel of him, allowing him to lead. Your hands wander to his shoulders, simply looking for something to hold onto, to anchor yourself to this world, while that skilful mouth torments and teases you. Running palms across smooth skin and down across his pectorals, you scrape your nails across his skin slightly, relishing the feel of his chest and hard muscles.

Altaïr’s tongue snakes into your mouth to tangle with your own, flirting with gentle strokes, hinting at the promise of what else his mouth could do.

A happy rumbling noise reverberates through his chest, through your splayed fingers, as his hands tight against your hips pull you flush against his body. His grip is solid, there's no escape but you wouldn’t want to, instead wiggling in eagerness against him, your body silently begging for more.

Teeth worry your lips slightly, enough to leave your skin tingling, and the assassin he pulls backwards just enough to fix you with a dark, hooded, gaze. He grins appreciatively, looking down at you with an expression of covetous lust.

‘You will need to show me that move you made earlier. That may come in handy.’ You murmur, between a few distracting, but surprisingly gentle, kisses.

‘Perhaps later.’ He breathes deeply against your skin, lips trailing your neck and hands wandering your body. ‘There a few other moves I wish to try first.’

Strong hands hurry you backwards towards the bed, and the back of your knees connect unexpectedly with the edge, almost throwing you off balance. With a grin, Altaïr gives you a sharp shove, leaving you tumbling backwards onto the soft mattress.

With remarkable grace and speed, the assassin is on you, his hard warm body stretching out across yours and pinning you down much in much the same manner as your earlier combat, but this time this is a _much_ more favourable position to be in.

Altaïr’s mouth resumes its task of teasing excited moans from low in your throat, every kiss setting fire to the small patch of skin it scrapes, tongue darting out to provide soothing relief as he licks across your heightened skin. Hands wander your body, skimming over your curves and leaving you arching into his fleeting caress, desperate for more.

You breathe his name like a soft prayer as those skilful lips work their way down your jawline and neck. Those little butterfly kisses, followed by the barest graze of teeth has you gasping for more, moisture flooding between your legs despite no touch wandering in that direction…yet.

Hands leave their death grip on your pinned wrists to slip under your tunic, sword-calloused fingertips grazing upwards across your ribs to stop just short of the mound of your breasts. The assassins thumb works back and forwards across the sensitive skin there and your nipples harden, peaking against the clinging cotton fabric of your shirt and longing for his caress to extend upwards.

'Looks like I'm still winning.' He grins, thumb just raising high enough to slip across your peaking nipple, it send a fresh wave of writhing through your body and a loud gasp from your lips.

Well you can’t have that. His smugness should warrant punishment and you can’t be seen to be too pliant under his touch. Pushing upwards hard, you squeeze his hips with your knees, rolling over to pin the man under you.

Altaïr chuckles deeply as you perch on top of him, dipping your head to give him a deep, probing kiss. This time you were the one pinning him to the bed, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hips lunge upwards, grinding the firm length of his cock against your centre and you can feel the damp cling of your underwear so intimately already.

'You're not the only one with fancy moves.' You tease, with a brief kiss.

The assassins back arches, following your lips, but you pull just out of reach and he growls in frustration. You like that noise from him. Rolling your hips, you aim to hear that wonderful purr from his throat again. He doesn’t disappoint, teeth bared in a small snarl as you tease the length of his cock through his trousers.

You are not allowed your indulgence for too long. With effortless ease, and an alarming amount of strength, Altaïr’s fingers grip your hips, practically throwing you off of him to land with surprised squeak of shock and a light bounce on the bed.

You wrestle playfully together, fighting for the dominant position, but Altaïr has years of training and is much bigger than you. He easily wins, claiming your body and mouth in reward, settling between your open tights to rut against you until you were panting his name.

Out of breath from your struggles he flips you over, pinning you face down on the bed, his lips against the back of your neck and the firm line of his body moulded against your back. You moan for him as he presses his erection against your backside, rolling those powerful hips against you.

Your whine of want was pathetically needy, but he seems happy to be exploring you with mouth and hands, and the low noises of pleasure suggest he was enjoying this just as much as you were. Pushing backwards against his solid body, you move your hips slightly up and down, just to feel the delicious hot spear of his cock dig into you and to hear deep masculine grunts of need in your ear.

Altaïr’s nimble fingers unlace the ties of the loose trousers you worse, rising off of you just a few inches so that he can wiggle them down your hips, exposing your bare backside to him. He stops mid-thigh, leaving your legs relatively trapped underneath him.

A warm palm caresses your bare skin, drawing a loud squeal of protest from you when he slaps hard enough to leave an imprint.  You glance accusingly at him over your shoulder, but Altaïr only licks his lips, scarred lip quirked in mischief before giving your arse another hearty smack.

Distracted by the mix of sensations through your body, you don’t get a chance to counter his moves, your body pliant under his direction. The assassin wiggles your top upwards and you just manage to pull it over your head, groaning at feeling of your bare breasts against the soft covers on his bed.

With you almost completely naked, it is a tad unfair. Altaïr’s fingers trail briefly across your exposed backside slipping between your thighs, caressing the soft delicate skin there before aiming just a little higher.

Teasing the sensitive outer folds of your pussy with the barest of fingertips has you pushing backwards against him, seeking a more direct touch. You moan loudly in protest, demanding that Altaïr give you the attention you deserve, not caring how desperate you sound. You can practically hear his smug grin behind you as you part your legs as much as the restrictive clothing with allow in encouragement.

After an age of slow torture, dexterous fingers slip effortlessly through the wet slick that the assassin had so easily and skilfully created, seeking out your clit to begin a tender caress.

You moan for him, hips wiggling against his hand, and his own laboured breathing against your neck lets you know he is enjoying your squirming. 

Altaïr pushes your thighs apart a fraction wider, large warm, hand slipping deeper between your legs, but you are still trapped by your clothing and at his mercy. He thrums your clit, pressing a little harder with every excited, throaty, moan from you. 

When he stops just short of your body spilling over into orgasm, you let out a low disappointed whine and Altaïr grunts in amusement, rising off of you and taking away the snug warmth of this body.

You try and ease up to your hands and knees, but the firm weight of the assassin’s body pushes you back downwards. He must have taken those brief moments to remove the last of his clothing, as now it is not just his naked chest pressing against your back; the lower half of his body is now as bare as the rest of him.

Hips cup your backside and you feel the hot, velvety, length of his cock press against your bare skin. Moaning and wiggling your hips, you attempt to impale yourself on him, body pulsing with the need to have him inside of you at any cost.

Hands curl around your hips, pulling them upwards and towards the waiting assassin, and Altaïr takes a moment’s pause, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds, slipping easily between your legs.

He nudges your entrance and you swallow hard in anticipation, upper body still pinned face down on the bed, you can only imagine what kind of sight you make, but at the moment don’t really care as long as he touches you again and shoves all that hard length into your welcoming body.

Altaïr edges forwards slightly penetrating you infinitely slowly and it’s all you can do to stay relatively still and not slide of the narrow bed to the floor in utter bliss.

When you beg desperately for more he pulls back, removing that wonderful feeling. Your hips rise, following his retreat, but the assassin holds you firm. He does it again, agonisingly slowly and your inner muscles flutter around him, enjoying the sensation of even just a few inches at a time penetrating you.

Altaïr teases you like that, for what feels like ages, penetrating you just with the tip of his cock before completely withdrawing, until you can feel your entire body tightly wound in tension and desperate for release.

'Tell me what you want.' He hums in your ear after a while, lips caressing the outer shell.

'You.' You can barely issue your confession through gritted teeth, frantic for him to move his hips with some semblance of pace.

'You'll need to be a bit more specific.’ He goads, peppering the back of your neck and shoulders with butterfly kisses.

‘ _Please_ Altaïr, I want you.’

‘To do what?’

‘Fuck me.’

‘Like this?’ He offers, pushing forwards with the strength of those muscled thighs until his cock is buried completely within you, hips sharp against your backside and balls slapping against your skin.

The swiftness of his move knocks all the breath from your lungs as you let out a high pitched keening cry of gratification.

‘ _Yes_.’ You manage to hiss, but your pleasure is short lived as he slowly withdraws.

Altaïr does it again, one long, violent, thrust that leaves your fingers scrambling against the bedding and your body squeezing around him.

You glance over your shoulder at him pleadingly. ‘ _Please_.’

‘I thought this is what you asked for.’

‘I need… _harder_ , _faster_.’

‘So demanding.’ He chuckled, but the slight shake in his arms let you know that the assassin couldn’t keep this game up for much longer either.

Altaïr relents, pushing against you with a fast, thorough, pace. His hips slam against your backside with every thrust, while his jaw nuzzles your neck. One hand wriggles between your body and the bed, curling around your hip to seek your clit and you push against him to help. Fingers press against the peaking nub, rubbing in small gentle circles to begin, but soon the pressure builds, fingertips dig a little firmer, circle your clit faster, as your bodies lose any sense of rhythm and just buck together seeking release.

You can feel Altaïr’s warm breath against your neck, his sweat slicked chest rubbing against your back. You bite your lip, trying to contain some of the eager, hearty moans that he is forcing from you with each swipe of those nimble assassin fingers and each deep thrust of his thick, hard cock.

Unable to move, or do anything much more than lie and allow him to take what he wants, you can sense yourself skirting towards orgasm. Body quivering in tension, each new touch from the man behind you edges you towards the brink.

Thighs quivering and heart beating frantically, pulse thudding rapidly in your ear, your throat, even between your legs, you feel the first ripple of pleasure start where the assassin was buried deep inside of you, before spilling out across your lower body. Muscles seize in pleasure and soon the intense tingling feeling has spread through you, right to even the tips of your toes and fingers.

Your body sags, flopping against the bed in happy exertion. Your own orgasm must have triggered his as Altaïr’s fingers abandon your sore, swollen clit, bracing his palms against the bed by your sides to offer a few last forceful thrusts into your body, before a low, deep growl of satisfaction rushes from his lips. His body stills against you, most of it nearly crushing you against the bed, were it not for his forearms braced against it.

Panting heavily, you regain your breath, vision still hazy from overwhelming pleasure. The assassin’s body still cradles against your back, for what seems like an age, before he carefully removes his weight.

You shiver at the loss of warmth of his skin and contact of his body pressed to snugly against yours but he doesn’t go far. Your post-orgasm legs don’t seem to want to work and you have difficulty moving your lower body. Thankfully you find strong hands rolling you carefully over and pulling down the last of your leggings and boots to discard them on the floor.

Finally naked, Altaïr pulls you against his muscled chest, positioning you both into a much comfier arrangement on the bed.

You can feel the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he regains his breath, his skin clammy and slick from exertion just like your own and you cuddle together.

‘Well I liked that move.’ You mummer, as a sated sleep tugs comfortingly at you.

Altaïr’s deep voice sounds equally far away and sleepy, but he offers a small chuckle. ‘Oh there’s plenty more of those. I’ll show you later.’


End file.
